


If Only

by AgnesBlue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Pining Derek, Pining Stiles, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-14 05:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesBlue/pseuds/AgnesBlue
Summary: High school AU in which Derek notices Stiles has a crush on Jackson. As Jackson's best friend, he offers to help Stiles out.





	If Only

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote as fun to take a break from my longer fics.

Derek first notices Stiles while monkeying around with Jackson out in the school hallway.

Derek doesn’t know the kid’s name yet then, but he can’t help but notice the graceful curve of the neck beneath the tuft of hair, the scrawny-slender arms slipping out of the t-shirt sleeves, the youthful chub of his cheeks.

Stiles is watching Jackson struggle in the crook of the headlock Derek has him in. Their eyes meet, and Stiles hastily glances away.

Jackson smacks his leg repeatedly, yammering to fucking _let go_ because Derek’s grip has gone tight around his neck, far too tight, and Derek hastily releases his friend before he passes out.

 

* * *

 

And after that, Stiles is everywhere.

Derek gets glimpses of pale, thin limbs as he dashes to his classes. He reads the sayings off the t-shirts that cover a yet-boyish chest.

 _There is no ‘we’ in food_  
_Sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to come_  
_My brain has too many tabs open_

He hears Stiles’ voice, calling out to his friend to wait up, or piping up to answer a question during a class five doors down. Once, instead of paying attention to his own lesson, Derek strains his ears to listen in to a presentation on some old British dude. Stiles ends it with a joke and Derek bursts out laughing before he can stop himself. The other students turn around in their seats to look at him in surprise, and he glares at them frostily before burying his face back into his arms to laugh quietly some more.

He wonders why it’s only now that he’s noticed Stiles.

 

* * *

 

Jackson.

It’s always Jackson Stiles is looking at. Stiles watches from afar as Jackson runs around the field in his damp lacrosse uniform, raking sweat off his brow. At lunchtime, he sits with a sandwich forgotten in his hands as he throws surreptitious glances over at the table where Derek hangs out with the popular crowd.

Derek tastes Stiles’ want, like a morsel of chocolate melting on his tongue.

Derek can’t blame him. Jackson makes a striking figure, like something cut out from the pages of a glossy magazine. He’s vibrant in everything he does, the golden boy of Beacon Hills High, and half the school adores him.

It’s not difficult to see that Stiles is in love.

He’s walking down the hallway with Jackson when he sees Stiles coming towards them. They nearly bump into him, Jackson neatly stepping to the side just in time to prevent a messy collision.

“Sorry about that,” Jackson says, and Derek hears the hitch of breath before Stiles stammers out that it’s okay.

His cheeks go rosy and Derek wants to squish him like a teddy bear.

 

* * *

 

The first time Derek speaks to him, it’s after school. Derek is heading his way outside to the parking lot when he sees Stiles at his locker, trying to zip up a bag stuffed to overflowing with books. _Go in, dang it_ , he’s muttering to himself.

Derek doesn't know what possesses him to speak, but he does.

“I don’t think that’s going to work.”

Stiles whirls around, the bag slipping from his grip and thudding meatily beside his feet. He’s something of a spaz, Derek’s since learned, clumsy enough that he can easily trip on thin air, and he further proves this by banging his hand on the door of the locker. Stiles sucks in a hiss, balling his injured hand into a fist, a little indent over his brows.

“You alright?” Derek takes a step forward and is disconcerted to see Stiles take a step backwards, bumping up against the lockers. He knows a lot of the students at school are afraid of him, and it’s upsetting to think that Stiles might be one of them.

“I’m okay,” Stiles stammers out. “Really, I’m fine.”

Derek picks up the bag off the floor, amused at how heavy it is, and hands it over. Stiles takes it with a mumbled thanks.

“Carrying around that much weight is bad for your shoulders.”

Stiles is visibly flustered. “I’ll take something out. Thanks.”

That would be it, but Derek can’t keep his big fat mouth shut for some reason. “You have a thing for Jackson, don’t you?”

Stiles stares at him with saucer-round eyes, mouth going slack. “Huh?”

“You like him,” Derek clarifies.

“I…I don’t…”

“It’s just that it’s so hard to miss, you being so obvious about it. You look at him a lot.”

Stiles grimaces, as if he genuinely had no idea he was being so conspicuous. “Sorry. I’ll stop doing it.”

Something about the way he ducks his head is adorable.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Derek assures him kindly, because Stiles seems to think he’s being admonished. “It’s not that obvious. I’m around the guy all the time, so it’s easier to catch. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“…Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“Want some help?”

Stiles pauses, uncertain as to what Derek is talking about. “Help? With what?”

“He’s my best friend. I can help you get closer to him, if you’d like.”

“Help me get closer to Jackson,” Stiles repeats.

“Yeah.”

“Uh…” Stiles’ eyes bounce around. “I have to go,” he says finally.

He hurries off, leaving Derek feeling strangely bereft. He wonders if he came off as a bit of a creep.

 _Oh well_ , he thinks ruefully. That’ll teach him to be a nuisance, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.

 

* * *

 

But the next day, he’s drinking from the water fountain when someone approaches him and calls his name. He glances up to see Stiles standing there, clutching nervously at his elbow. Derek thumbs off the drop of water from his mouth and Stiles looks down at his feet. The tips of his ears are ruddy and he looks wretched, like a little kid who’s been pulled out in front of the classroom to speak against his will.

“I accept. If the offer’s still on the table.”

Derek straightens up, surprised. “It is.”

“Yeah, just.” Stiles waves a hand vaguely. “Tell me… things about him.”

Derek nods. “Okay, sure. I can do that.”

 

* * *

 

“What do you want to know in particular?” Derek asks.

They’re sitting at the picnic bench behind the school. The day is cool and pleasant. It’s the kind of weather that makes you think of pumpkin pies at county fairs and faraway places and a forest full of orange and red leaves.

Stiles sips at the can of Sprite Derek’s bought him from the vending machine. They're sharing a bag of peanut M&M’s between them and Derek tries not to look too much at Stiles slipping the little pieces into his mouth one after another. “Anything is fine. Anything you can think of. I’m interested in learning about him.”

“Hmm,” Derek hums, scrunching his brows and scratching at his arm. Where to begin? “Well…”

Jackson is an only child. His favorite dish is Bolognese pasta, but can easily tuck away an entire pizza wheel from Toscana's. He has two purebred golden retrievers, one is named Buddy, the other Derek can’t remember, but it’s named after a cocktail drink. Derek has an inkling that Mr. Whittemore may be a functioning alcoholic, but he doesn’t add that part.

“He’s not seeing anyone at the moment, by the way. That rarely happens, so you should make the move while you can.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, fiddling with a scrap of napkin. “I’m not…looking to get together with Jackson.”

Derek frowns. “Why not?”

“He’s…Jackson Whittemore.”

“And?”

“I just want to learn more about him for now,” Stiles reiterates. “I’m not…ready for anything else.”

“So you have no plans at all to ask him out? None whatsoever?”

“No, not really.”

“Then why are you asking me for advice?”

“I want to hear about him, that's pretty much it.”

Derek catches his discomfort. “Hey, I didn’t mean to push. Whatever pace you want to set, that’s fine by me. No worries.”

Stiles relaxes, the tension in his shoulders bleeding out. “Thanks.”

Derek takes another sip of his soda and remembers something from years ago that he thinks Stiles will enjoy hearing about. “So, this one time when he was twelve…”

 

* * *

 

He regales Stiles with the funny little incidents he’s had with Jackson throughout the many years they've been friends, the shenanigans they’ve gotten into together. He scrounges about for every tidbit he can recall, searching deep into the recesses of his memories. Nothing embarrassing, nothing Jackson wouldn’t want known to the outside world, because Derek isn’t a disloyal jerk.

Stiles listens to him, rapt, drinking in every word he says, a dreamy little smile on his lips.

 

* * *

 

“You don’t think you’re not good enough for him, do you?”

It’s late in the afternoon and they’re both sitting at a small café a short distance away from the school. Their table is tucked away in the corner, and there’s a quiet lull in the shop. They’ve been talking for hours.

He keeps noticing little things about Stiles.

He’s learned that Stiles tries not to drink coffee after six because he has enough trouble sleeping at night as it is. When he does drink coffee, it’s always black (Derek remembers that t-shirt:  _I like my coffee black as my soul._ Stiles had worn it to school on a rainy Tuesday). He has a cute way of rubbing at the corner of his right brow when he’s nervous. He has trouble making eye-contact and so he often stares at Derek’s fingers instead.

Like now.

“Hmm?” Stiles says, his gaze moving up distractedly from Derek’s hand where it's wrapped around his paper cup.

“Do you think you’re not good enough for Jackson? Is that why you don’t have plans to make a move on him?”

“No, I mean, yes. But it’s more than that.”

“What is it, then?”

Stiles hesitates, then laughs, a little self-deprecatingly. “I’m afraid of being rejected, to be honest,” he says. “You have no idea. I don’t think I’d be able to recover from that, if he tells me no. Which is the most likely outcome.”

Derek wonders what it’s like, to be into someone that much. He’s never fallen hard for anyone. Even after that sex-fueled romp with Kate fizzled out, he’d bounced back like Teflon, nary a scratch on his heart.

He’s never been one to take high school crushes seriously, whether his or anyone else’s, but something about the way Stiles’ eyes go soft as he talks about Jackson makes his heart twinge painfully. He knows Stiles will get over it, if Jackson does reject him, but it’s going to take a very long time. This isn’t puppy love.

He suddenly has to know. “What do you like so much about him?”

Stiles laughs again, sheepish. “Um, well, everything.”

Right. Everything. Derek didn’t know what he was expecting. Even so, the answer disgruntles him to no end.

“I’m not saying he’s perfect,” Stiles continues. “He’s not. But…”

“Yeah, he’s pretty hot,” Derek cuts in, a little flatly. It’s the most common compliment given to Whittemore by the girls. Apparently guys aren’t immune to it either. Derek feels like harrumphing.

“Well, yes, he is, but that’s not all there is to him.”

“What else is there?”

“He’s sweet and thoughtful.”

Derek frowns and picks at his chin. Is Jackson particularly sweet and thoughtful?

“When did you first realize that you liked him?”

“About three years ago. It was getting close to the anniversary of my mom’s death and I was feeling rather weepy and alone. I don’t know why he did it, because we’d never once spoken before or since then, but he dropped a piece of candy on my desk and told me to feel better.”

“Maybe it was a ploy to give you cavities,” Derek jokes. “His mom is a dentist. You know, drumming up business for the family.”

Stiles grins. “I thought it was really sweet of him. It cheered me up.”

Derek sighs. That does sound like a nice thing to do. Besides, it’s not really his place to question why Stiles has the feelings he has.

“You can start off as friends, right? That’s a good place as any.”

“Right.”

“He’s a great guy,” Derek concedes, and tries not to sound too bitter about it. He has to admit, there’s more to Jackson than his looks. “A lot of people think he’s a bag of dicks, but he’s nice once you get to know him. But I guess you’ve already figured that out already.”

Stiles nods then says, “Tell me about the most embarrassing thing you did with Jackson.”

And Derek does. He lays himself open bare, not caring that he turns himself into a clown in the process. The laughter he pulls out from Stiles is worth it.

 

* * *

 

Lying in bed that night, blinking in the fuzzy darkness, Derek wonders if Stiles would still love Jackson if Derek told him that Jackson has a shit-eating fetish.

It wouldn’t be true, of course, but…

No… he’s not going to do that.

 

* * *

 

The problem is… there’s only so much he knows about Jackson.

They’ve been friends for over a decade, ever since they were toddlers at the same day care center and Jackson smacked him in the face with a plastic Triceratops. So while he knows more about Whittemore than anyone else, he’s running out of things to say.

He remembers that scene in some movie, where the man was fed scraps of details about the woman he loved every ensuing month or something.

_Her favorite flower is daffodils._

_She likes music._

He should have done that. He regrets spilling out everything so soon. Now his bucket of Whittemore trivia is empty and dry.

The problem is… he feels disjointed, agitated, all bent out of sorts. He can’t stay still in one place. He keeps touching his phone, wanting to call Stiles and hear his voice.

The problem is…he’s pissed. He doesn’t understand how Jackson can be so oblivious, so blind to the fact that someone who adores him to the moon and back is right in front of him.

The problem is...he knows what the problem is, and he knows there's no way to fix this, and it _hurts_.

 

* * *

 

Derek is in the boy’s locker room after gym class, worn out after an hour of being run ragged through a series of grueling workouts. The coach likes to give his lacrosse players special treatment, the sadistic bastard.

His hair is damp from the shower he’s taken, and he dabs at the water trickling down his neck as he rummages about his locker.

Jackson cracks a towel over Derek’s ass as he ambles by. “Fucktard,” he says pleasantly.

“Dickweed,” Derek lobs back without sparing him a glance.

They each return to doing their thing, getting dressed for their next class, when the door clatters open noisily and a line of scraggly freshmen burst through.

Stiles is among them. He’s chattering enthusiastically with his friend, the one with crooked jawline and tangled mop of hair, and Derek perks up like a happy puppy when he sees him.

“Hey, Stiles,” Derek calls out, holding up a hand. Stiles’ head swivels towards in his direction and his mouth snaps instantly shut. A tiny _meep_ sound escapes between his lips. “You have PE this period?”

“Yep,” Stiles squeaks.

He’s red all over as if he’s stepped out of a sauna, arousal whiffling off his skin like heat on a broiling hot summer day.

Derek glances over to where Jackson is standing with his broad shoulders and trim waist, all sinew and taut muscle covered in an expanse of golden skin.

Of course.

Derek quickly pulls on a shirt over his head, no longer concerned that the water from his hair is going to soak the collar wet. He feels glutted with defeat and humiliation.

“Well, have fun dodging balls to your face,” Derek says. Snagging up his gym bag off the bench, he leaves before Stiles can say anything else.

 

* * *

 

It’s after three.

Stiles comes over to his locker and waits for him to finish packing his books so that they can go somewhere and spend a few hours together, the way they’ve been doing for the past two weeks.

“I don’t think I can do today. I’m kind of busy,” Derek says.

“Sure,” Stiles says easily enough. “I understand.”

“I’m meeting up with my girlfriend.”

“…Oh.”

“Yeah. She says she’s missed me the past couple of days. Keeps telling me I should pay more attention to her and all that.”

Derek’s being childish. Petulant. He knows this, he knows it’s useless because Stiles doesn’t give two shits about him as anything other than Jackson’s friend, but he can’t help himself.

“Sorry for taking up so much of your time,” Stiles says quietly, sounding so contrite that Derek immediately wants to apologize.

He's saved from having to respond when Jennifer appears. She’s changed out of her school clothes into something far more indecent, and with the amount of cleavage spilling out, it’d be a smart idea to leave before a teacher catches her.

“Ready to go?” she says, linking her arm through his.

“Have a nice weekend,” Derek tells Stiles, with deliberate aloofness, and he leaves with Jennifer plastered to his side.

But as he pulls his car out of the parking lot, Jennifer sitting beside him in the passenger’s seat and fiddling with the radio for songs she can dance to, he can’t help but think that everything is all wrong.

 

* * *

 

Coming to the party was a bad idea.

Derek realizes this the moment he steps inside and is greeted by the dense clump of bodies and music that threatens to give him a headache.

He’s not in the mood to be here.

Balancing her drink so that she doesn’t spill a drop, Jennifer wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close, her breasts pushing against him insistently. Her mouth is sensuous with lipstick and purpose. They spend a minute or two kissing, her moaning around his tongue.

He moves his hands off her hips, but she catches his wrist and starts to tug him towards the staircase.

“Where are you going?” she whines when he resists. " _Derek!_ "

But he snatches his arm away. He roughly pushes through the bodies, forcing them to part as he cuts his way to the front door.

It’s blessedly cool outside, and he walks away from the group of rowdy teenagers crowded about the front porch until he finds an isolated spot. He dials a number and closes his eyes when a familiar voice answers.

“Hey.”

“Derek?” Stiles sounds surprised.

“Yeah.”

“Hi. Where are you? Stiles says.

“Mmm,” he hums and leans against the wall. “Outside. At some party at some dude’s house.”

“Okay. Are you drunk?”

“No,” Derek says, with mock prissiness. “I’m not that kind of guy, I’ll have you know.”

Stiles' laugh is like a handful of antacids, melting away the lump congested in his chest.

“What’s going on? Why’d you call me while at a party?” he asks in amusement.

_Just wanted to hear your voice._

“Just wanted to see if you wanted to meet up tomorrow. Maybe go see a movie?”

“What about your girlfriend? Wouldn’t she mind?”

_She’s not my girlfriend. I lied to make you jealous._

“We broke up.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Things weren’t working out.”

“Well, then, yes. Yes, I’d like to meet up. That would be nice.”

_What are you wearing right now?_

“What are you doing right now?”

There’s a pause, then Stiles snorts. “Making cupcakes.”

Derek laughs along with him. “I honestly wasn’t expecting that answer. Cupcakes?”

“Why not cupcakes?” Stiles retorts.

“Jackson likes cheesecake,” Derek blurts out.

“Uh, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. This is actually for my dad, though.”

“Oh,” Derek says, mollified.

“Yep. One of his colleagues is retiring and I’m making them for his retirement party tomorrow. One hundred of them, actually.”

“That sounds like a lot.”

“Baking’s a hobby of mine, believe it or not. I suck at it unless I follow the recipe to a T, which is the hardest part since I keep wanting to do things my way and get creative, but it’s therapeutic. Helps me take my mind off things when I’m in a bad mood. So I volunteered to do it at the last minute.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Thanks. I try to be a good son when I can. God knows I aggravate my dad enough as it is. My way of thanking him for not kicking me out of the house.”

Derek frowns. “You’re in a bad mood? Why are you in a bad mood?”

“Oh, I… I’m better now.”

They talk for a while, until Stiles has to go.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Derek.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

Stiles clicks off, and the phone goes dead.

“I’d make a good boyfriend too,” Derek says into the receiver. “If you’d give me a chance. I’d try hard to make you happy.”

He covers his eyes with a hand. God, how much more fucking pathetic can he be? Maybe he is drunk, off the fumes of how pathetic he is.

He staggers up to his feet. The party is loud behind him. Too loud, the bass throbbing through the ground and pulsing into his bones. He thinks of Jennifer waiting for him, and can’t bring himself to go back inside.

He finds his car and drives home.

 

* * *

 

That night in bed, he jerks off to the image of Stiles naked in a frilly apron with a dab of pink frosting on his nose. The sash tied around his slim waist guides Derek’s gaze down the round slopes of his ass, to the hint of puckered skin that Derek wants to tongue and suckle on. 

The moon peers through his bedroom window like an inquisitive yellow eye as Derek comes with a muffled groan.

Guilt seizes him instantly, and he wipes his dirty hand on a shirt before burying his burning face in his pillow.

 

* * *

 

“You’re spending a lot of time with Stilinski these days,” Jackson says out of the blue, surprising him. Derek hadn’t realized his friend had caught on.

He makes a disinterested noise, a sort of feint, if you will. He leans back on the leather couch in Jackson’s living room and tries to act as casual as can be. Like an animal pretending to be dead, in the hopes that the predator will slink on by. On screen, Spiderman is flipping over buildings, a blur of red and blue.

“You’re not dating him, are you?”

“What? No, I’m not.” He doesn't figure out whether to sound natural or scandalized at the very idea before he speaks, and his voice comes out slightly off.

“Hmm,” Jackson hums.

They continue to watch the movie. Or rather, Jackson watches the movie while Derek sits there in a mild panic, sweat beading his hairline.

“He’s pretty cute, isn’t he? In a nerdy sort of way,” Jackson says, and Derek’s blood runs cold.

He knows what that considering glint in Jackson’s eyes means.

 _It’s over_ , he thinks faintly. The end.

It’s time to accept it. Jackson may not exactly be long-term relationship material. Jackson may end up breaking Stiles’ heart. But Jackson makes Stiles happy. Jackson is the one Stiles wants, the one he's wanted for the past _three years_. Derek isn’t going to ruin it for him.

“Yeah, I think you’d like him.” It takes herculean effort to push out the rest of the words. “You two would be good together.”

 

* * *

 

The coffee shop is quiet.

They sit across from each other and Derek can’t help notice the way the afternoon sunlight collects on Stiles’ eyelashes.

He’s asked Stiles to meet him here. It’s the same little shop they’ve been coming to nearly every day after school and Derek doesn’t know if he’ll regret choosing this place – what he thinks of as _their_ place – to do this, but maybe it’s the next step in letting go of Stiles.

“I have something for you,” Stiles tells him.

“What is it?”

“See for yourself.” And he rustles out a cute little box from a paper bag and sets it out on the table.

Derek can see two cupcakes resting inside through the transparent film cut out in the shape of a heart. “You made these?”

“Yep. They’re for you.”

The cupcakes are impressively pretty, topped with buttery-brown crème and bits of broken Reese’s Pieces peanut butter cups.

“Now, before you ask, no, these are not leftovers from the ones I made last Friday. I made them especially for you.”

Derek’s heart droops. “You know Jackson has a shi… ” He trails off.

No… he’s not going to do that.

“Has a what?” Stiles says curiously.

Derek shakes his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

Stiles pushes the box closer to him, slightly concerned at how Derek is _staring_ at them. “You can eat them, if you want. They’re not that horrible.” He tilts his head. “What’s wrong?”

“I, uh, actually have a present for you too.”

Stiles' grin goes wide and pleased. “You do? Awesome.”

“Yeah, I think you’ll like mine.”

And then, as if on cue, a voice calls out his name. “Derek!”

Jackson is sauntering over, and Derek’s throat stitches up.

“Here, sit down.” He moves on autopilot, slowly getting to his feet and giving up his chair for his friend to sit down. “I thought it was time you two got to know each other better.”

Stiles sits there frozen and Derek wants to tell him not to look so scared.

He wants to tell Stiles that Jackson would be a fool to not like him, because Derek thinks he’s amazing. He wants to tell Stiles so many things. But he’s the sidekick of this story. It’s time to step down and let the hero shine.

He gives Stiles’ shoulder a quick, encouraging squeeze. “You'll be fine.”

But as he’s headed for the exit, he hears a hurried clatter and Stiles calls his name.

“Derek, wait. Wait!”

He continues walking, one foot after another, and is about to reach the door when a hand snags his wrist, forcing him to turn around.

He keeps his gaze trained down at the floor, because if he looks up at Stiles right now, there’s a chance he might say or do something that’ll mess up everything.

“You got this,” he says reassuringly and hears Stiles release a shaky breath.

“Okay, funny thing. Um… I don’t really like Jackson.”

He jerks up in surprise and says slowly, “You don’t like Jackson anymore?”

Stiles looks stricken. “No. I never did.”

Derek stares at him in confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

“Can I eat this cupcake?” Jackson calls out. “Derek, can I eat this?”

Derek looks around Stiles’ shoulder. “No, those are mine. Don’t touch them.”

“I’m starving,” Jackson complains.

“Yeah, shut the hell up for a minute.” Derek turns to Stiles again. “What do you mean, you never liked him?”

“I mean, I never liked him. There was literally never a moment in my life when I had feelings for him. You wrongly assumed I did.”

“Then why did you ask me for help to get with him?” He gestures towards Jackson.

Stiles waves his hands around. “Because I wanted to be close to _you_. That’s why I accepted your offer. I saw it as my only opportunity to talk and hang out together with you.”

Derek doesn’t understand. “With me,” he says stupidly.

“I…I like you,” Stiles says. “You’re the one I like.”

“So, let me get this straight. You have no feelings whatsoever for Jackson. It’s been me that you wanted on all along, from the start.”

“Yes. Pretty much,” Stiles says. “I still have that Reese’s Pieces cup you gave me. My dad tried to eat it once by accident and I went mental.”

His smile fades and he goes back to looking miserable. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to trick you or anything. I just wanted to get closer to you so badly and – ”

He's cut off when Derek cups that perfect little face by the cheeks and pulls him forward.

"I like you too," he murmurs, before he brings Stiles into a slow and sweet kiss. When they break apart, Stiles' eyes are suspiciously shiny.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I do."

He gathers Stiles into a hug and when Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's waist as if he'll never get another chance to hold Derek again, he feels a contentment he's never felt before. He's vaguely aware that they're doing this two feet away from the shop entrance and half the coffee shop is watching them, but he doesn't care. 

Over Stiles' head, he sees Jackson who, despite being told to leave them alone, is sedately eating one of the cupcakes. The jackass gives Derek a thumbs up.

"Let's never talk about him again," Derek says darkly and he feels Stiles' smile against his neck. 

"Fine by me."

**Author's Note:**

> Adding at the end to prevent spoilers: this was ~~a rip off of~~ heavily inspired by BL manga "Kanjou Spectrum" by Yoneda Kou.  
>  The movie mentioned is Big Fish, in case anyone was curious.  
> Thank you so much for reading!! <3<3<3  
> 


End file.
